It took every ounce of my years Jedi discipline not to stumble on the polished stone pathway with how nervous I was.
Seronea's words hung in the crisp Corellian air. You are the one I saw in the Force all those years ago...
I swallowed hard, forcing my breathing into a steady rhythm as we continued walking arm in arm toward the awaiting luxury speeder. If the Matriarch of House Velor had truly experienced a prophetic Force vision of me before Seris and I had even arrived at the Coruscant Temple as younglings, it meant the threads of our lives were tangled far deeper in the cosmic Force tapestry than I had ever dared to imagine.
"Well, Cain?" Seronea prompted gently, her youthful face turning up toward mine with an amused, patient smile. "My question remains."
I cleared my throat, deciding that honesty was the only viable path forward with a woman who had apparently foreseen my arrival decades in advance.
"Seris..." I began, letting a faint, fond smile soften my expression. "When we first met as younglings on Coruscant, she was an absolute terror of perfectionism. After my first awakening at the Temple, when my Force abilities flared out of control, she practically made it her personal crusade to match and surpass me in every single subject. Lightsaber katas, galactic history, meditation, Force manipulation... if there was a metric to measure excellence, she demanded nothing less than perfection from herself."
Seronea chuckled softly, the melodic sound ringing with deep amusement.
"Over the years, we sparred hundreds of times," I continued, feeling the warmth of those memories push back the lingering chill of Abeloth's void. "She pushed me to my absolute limits, physically and mentally, and I pushed her. But as we grew, that rigid shell of her's began to soften. She didn't lose her edge, if anything, her analytical mind became sharper than a vibroblade, but she learned to be more trusting and open. She learned that she didn't have to be perfect but just be herself. Truly, Lady Velor... in our cohort, she is our tactical anchor. Without her brilliant mind, her pragmatism, and her steadying presence, I would be utterly lost."
Ahead of us, walking beside her tall mother, Seris's posture went completely rigid. Even from behind, I could see the tips of her long, pointed ears flushing a brilliant, incandescent shade of scarlet. They twitched a few times, in sheer mortification as she realized our acute Force resonance was letting her hear every single word I was telling her grandmother.
"It seems Seris takes heavily after me when I was her age," Seronea said, her sapphire eyes shimmering with fond nostalgia.
I raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her. "Were you a bit of a perfectionist in your youth, Lady Velor?"
"A few centuries ago? Heavens, yes," Seronea admitted with an airy wave of her hand. "I was an insufferable little perfectionist. In truth, I suppose I still am in certain matters. My sister Fay and I were born barely a year apart. I was the elder, exceptionally driven, and learned complex skills at a frightening pace. Fay, on the other hand, was born with an effortless, boundless communion with the Living Force. For our lineage, such gifts were not entirely unheard of, but Fay's depth was extraordinary. And so, as per tradition, she was sent to Coruscant."
"Tradition?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes," Seronea explained, her tone taking on a more measured, reflective weight. "Every few generations, House Velor sends our most exceptionally gifted younglings to the Grand Temple on Coruscant, specifically if we believe our local masters on Corellia cannot provide the breadth of training required to unlock their true potential. It is a rare occurrence, mind you, especially over the past millennium, as the Coruscant Order grew increasingly centralized, political, and dogmatic. A reality you and several hundred other are intimately familiar with, given your sects recent exodus."
I nodded silently. Seronea and Master Fay were several centuries old. While they weren't quite as ancient as Grand Master Yoda or Yadall, they had lived long enough to watch the Republic and the Jedi Order slowly decay from the outside.
"Fay flourished in her own way at the Temple," Seronea continued softly, and beneath her melodic tone, I caught a subtle undercurrent, a faint, complex mix of longing and quiet melancholy. "She became one of the vanishingly rare Jedi Masters who never felt the need to ignite a lightsaber, choosing instead to wander the stars, following wherever the Force called her to heal and protect."
She didn't elaborate further on that lingering sorrow, and I knew better than to pry.
We reached the awaiting luxury repulsor-transport, a sleek, elongated craft lined with polished silver trim and tinted transparisteel. The delegation boarded smoothly. I was gestured to take a seat directly beside Seronea on the plush leather benches, while Sonya sat gracefully between Master Fay and Seris. Anakin, Derren, Sheera, and our disguised Threepio took the opposite row alongside the Corellian security officers and aides.
The speeder's repulsor engines engaged with a silky, almost inaudible hum, lifting us smoothly above the forested plateau and soaring out over the capital basin.
Up close, Coronet City was nothing short of magnificent.
Unlike the suffocating, kilometer-deep urban canyon of Coruscant, Corellia's capital was a breathtaking coastal metropolis. Gleaming ivory spires soared gracefully into the azure sky, perfectly integrated with vast, emerald parklands, sparkling waterways, and bustling, wide-open stone plazas.
As the transport banked along an elevated transit lane, we passed a colossal, heavily fortified complex situated near the city center. The architecture seamlessly fused classic Corellian industrial sleekness with massive, interlocking deflector shield pylons and austere watchtowers.
"The Green Jedi Enclave," I murmured, recognizing the distinct emblem etched into the bastion's primary gates. "The Corellian Jedi Academy."
Anakin leaned forward, looking out the transparisteel viewport with a raised brow. "Wait, we're not landing at the enclave?"
Sonya smiled, her gray eyes carrying the same sharp, aristocratic poise as Seris. "Not today, young Skywalker. The enclave leadership and our planetary ministers have been briefed on your arrival, but first, we wish to welcome you all to the Velor estate as our personal guests. Tomorrow, we will convene the formal political council with Corellia's various party leaders."
I kept my expression calm, but my instincts pricked with caution. They want to assess us on their own terms before throwing us into the political arena. House Velor holds more cards here than they're letting on.
"That is perfectly fine," I replied smoothly. "It gives Seris and Master Fay well-deserved time to get reacquainted with their family."
Seris shot me a tense, nervous look from across the aisle. "Cain... that really isn't necessary...."
Master Fay merely offered a tranquil, knowing smile, remaining peacefully silent.
Beside Anakin, Sheera leaned forward, her long white hair falling over her shoulder as a radiant, mischievous grin spread across her magenta features.
"Oh, don't be so modest, Seris!" Sheera purred, her violet eyes sparkling with pure flirtatious energy. "I think it's wonderful! You simply must show me around the city tonight. Take me to all the most scenic spots, the finest lounges, where all the real fun happens!"
Seris's silver eyebrows knit together in exasperation. "Sheera, I haven't lived on Corellia since I was three years old. I possess zero knowledge of local nightlife."
"Then that just means it's time for us to make entirely new memories together, darling," Sheera teased with a sultry wink, reaching out a slender hand to gently pat Seris's knee.
Seris instantly swatted Sheera's hand away with surgical precision.
Undeterred, Sheera giggled and tried to rest her hand on Seris's shoulder.
Seris slapped it away again. Sheera reached out with both hands, feigning innocence, while Seris's hands blurred in a lightning-fast flurry of defensive deflections, smack, tap, swat, her pointed ears burning bright red as she treated Sheera's playful advances like a high-stakes lightsaber drill.
The entire cabin, from the stoic C-Sec guards to Anakin and Derren, broke into quiet, stifled laughter at the spectacle.
"Peace, little one," Seronea said with a rich laugh, gesturing out the window. "Your Zeltron friend speaks the truth. You are home, and we Corellians value our home and heritage above all else. Look, we have entered the residential valley."
The transport dipped below a ridge of rolling hills, revealing an expansive, sprawling estate nestled amidst pristine pine forests and crystalline streams.
I leaned closer to the window, my good eye widening slightly in surprise.
The estate didn't resemble standard Republic architecture at all. Instead, it looked remarkably like an ancient Eastern Asian compound from my past life, a harmonious, minimalist fusion of sprawling pavilions, sweeping curved eaves, dark polished timbers, and serene stone courtyards. Wrought into the towering wrought-iron gates at the perimeter was an elegant family crest: a brilliant silver star framing an intricately stylized letter V.
"Welcome to the Velor ancestral estate," Seronea said with quiet pride. "When our Echani and Sephi ancestors migrated to Corellia millennia ago, they carried a piece of their distinct homeworlds with them. From the exterior, our compound maintains a traditional, minimalist aesthetic, though beneath the woodwork rests state-of-the-art defensive infrastructure. We prefer a simpler, grounded way of living."
As the speeder descended toward a stone landing apron, Anakin and Sheera peered down in awe.
In the open courtyards below, dozens of men and women, all possessing striking silver, white, or golden-blonde hair and varying lengths of pointed or elegant ears, were engaged in rigorous martial training. Some danced with gleaming training sabers in blindingly fast duels, while others sparred bare-handed, their movements carrying the unmistakable, fluid grace of Echani combat arts.
Master Fay gazed out at the pavilions with a soft look of remembrance. "You have expanded the grounds somewhat since I last walked these gardens, sister."
Seronea smirked playfully. "Dear sister, you haven't set foot on this estate in over three centuries. How could you possibly tell?"
"The eastern courtyard has been widened by twenty paces," Fay replied serenely, "and the ancestral dojo, which once resided inside the main pavilion, appears to have been relocated to the rear gardens."
"Quite observant," Sonya chimed in with a proud smile. "That rear dojo belongs to my husband, Zakan. As the Chief Lightsaber Instructor for the Corellian Jedi Order, he spends countless hours refining the combat techniques of our knights. He also oversees the hand-to-hand and tactical melee instruction for Corellian Security. That detached dojo is where he trains his most advanced disciples, who reside on the estate until their mastery is acknowledged."
Curious, I closed my right eye, letting the physical world fade as I reached out with my Force-light vision.
Instantly, the estate illuminated in my mind's eye. The courtyard blazed with dozens of vibrant, dancing embers of force lights in bright different colors. Bright Force presences, perfectly typical of skilled Jedi knights and martial adepts.
Nothing out of the ordinary...
Then, my senses drifted toward the isolated wooden dojo at the rear of the estate.
I froze.
Inside that distant chamber burned a single, solitary presence. It wasn't massive or overwhelming like Yoda's ocean of light, nor was it like Anakin's roaring sun. It was compact, concentrated, and burned with a radiance of absolute, unblemished, pure-white brilliance unlike anything I had ever sensed before. It was still, immaculate, and utterly devoid of ripple or hesitation.
I opened my eye, my pulse quickening with profound fascination.
"So... what does everyone here actually do?" Derren asked, looking out at the dozens of training warriors. "Is the whole family in the military?"
"A varied assortment," Seronea answered. "A number of our kin serve as high-level bodyguards for prominent planetary dignitaries or elite clientele. A significant portion serve within C-Sec while simultaneously holding rank as Corellian Jedi. Others operate as combat instructors throughout the Mid and Inner Rim, while a select few operate independently as licensed bounty hunters."
Anakin's eyes lit up with competitive interest. "Are there any truly exceptional duelists among your ranks?"
Sonya tilted her head thoughtfully. "My husband is naturally the first who comes to mind. But beyond him... I would have to say my oldest daughter."
Derren's jaw dropped. Anakin and I both blinked in surprise.
"Oldest daughter?" Derren blurted out, looking between Sonya and Seris. "Wait, Seris has a sister?!"
I glanced at Seris, expecting her to explain, but she looked just as bewildered as the rest of us.
Sonya let out a soft, elegant laugh at our reactions. "Of course she does. Seris has an older sister, Vaelen, who operates as an elite combat hunter across the Outer Rim, we rarely receive transmissions from her due to her contracts. And, of course, Seris has her two infant siblings."
Seris stared at her mother in sheer disbelief. "Wait... I have more siblings?!"
Sonya blinked, momentarily startled by the question, before a flush of maternal embarrassment crossed her regal features. "Ah... of course. Forgive me, my dear. It has been so many years since your last correspondence from the Temple. Yes, you have a younger brother and sister. They were born roughly five years ago and are currently on Eshan, residing with your father's extended family for their early cultural rites."
Seris rubbed her temples, looking completely overwhelmed by the sudden explosion of her family tree.
The luxury transport touched down smoothly upon the private stone landing pad. As the repulsorlift engines powered down, the boarding hatch hissed open, revealing an honor guard of Velor retainers in slate-gray and forest-green robes. They bowed deeply at the waist.
"Welcome home, Matriarch. Welcome, Lady Sonya."
"They're certainly a lively household," Anakin remarked with a grin as we stepped out into the courtyard.
Seronea turned toward our group, her commanding presence effortlessly taking charge.
"Now then," the Matriarch declared. "Anakin, Derren, Sheera, you are welcome to retire to your assigned guest quarters to rest, or you may explore the grounds. If you are feeling energetic, the courtyard masters are currently conducting advanced saber drills. Master Plo Koon informed us that you two are formidable duelists, especially you, young Skywalker."
Anakin's grin widened into a confident smirk. "I'd love to see how Corellian Jedi handle their blades."
"Count me in," Derren agreed, rolling his shoulders eagerly.
Sheera gave a dramatic, feline stretch, her silk tunic pulling tight and displaying a decidedly immodest amount of cleavage that made several young Sephi guards in the courtyard suddenly clear their throats. "I'll pass on the sweat and bruises, boys. I am heading straight to my quarters for a long, luxurious nap."
"I shall accompany the Matriarch and Sonya," Master Fay said gently.
Seronea then turned her gaze toward the disguised Threepio. "And Lord Noctis? Would you care for a tour of our archives, or do you require private quarters to rest?"
Threepio's masked head tilted slightly, catching my subtle nod through his optical sensors.
"I shall require private quarters to meditate and rest, Lady Velor," the droid replied in his deep, heavily modulated vocal frequency.
"Very well," Seronea said, summoning several attendants with a flick of her hand to guide everyone to their respective destinations.
Then, she turned back to Seris, a razor-sharp, matriarchal gleam entering her sapphire eyes. "As for you, my dear granddaughter... your mother, your great-aunt Fay, and I must have an extensive, private discussion. You are positively radiating in the Force today, and I fully intend to hear every single detail."
Seris froze. She turned toward me, her wide silver eyes practically screaming a silent, desperate plea: Help me!
I offered her a sympathetic, completely helpless wince. Sorry, Seris. You're on your own. I have my own trials to survive.
"And finally... Cain," Seronea said, stepping up to my side.
I looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, Lady Velor?"
"There is someone who wishes to meet you," she murmured, a mysterious smile gracing her lips. "Come with me."
Leaving the rest of our party behind, I followed Seronea up a flight of sweeping stone steps and into the main pavilion of the Velor estate.
Stepping inside felt like crossing the boundary into an ancient, tranquil world. The interior was a breathtaking fusion of polished dark cwood, delicate sliding shoji-style screens, and woven tatami like flooring, seamlessly integrated with concealed environmental controls, subtle recessed lighting, and high-spec holoprojectors. Retainers and family members moved gracefully through the airy corridors dressed in elegant, flowing kimono-style tunics.
It really is like stepping into an ancient Japanese palace, I thought, a strange pang of nostalgia striking my soul. Something I never got to experience in my past life.
We walked in quiet contemplation until we reached the far end of a tranquil garden corridor overlooking a bamboo grove. Before us stood a heavy, metallic sliding door etched with ancient Echani martial glyphs.
Seronea came to a halt.
"Here," she said softly, turning to face me. "You will enter alone."
"May I ask who is waiting inside?" I asked, centering my focus.
Seronea smiled warmly, leaning up on her toes to press a gentle, matriarchal kiss to my right cheek. "No one you need to fear, Cain. Farewell for now. I shall see you at dinner tonight."
With a swirl of her green-and-gray robes, the Matriarch turned and glided back down the corridor, leaving me standing alone before the sealed threshold.
Taking a slow, centering breath, I stepped toward the door.
The sensors registered my approach, and the heavy metallic panel slid open with a soft, pressurized hiss.
I stepped into a sprawling, open training dojo.
The floor was constructed of immaculate, high-friction polished wood, bare of all furnishings save for a series of weapon racks lining the far wall. In the absolute center of the vast chamber, kneeling in a disciplined, motionless meditative posture, sat a single man.
He was relatively short, standing perhaps five feet, four inches, with pale skin and snow-white hair cropped neatly along his jawline. Unlike the Sephi members of the family, his ears were entirely human in shape, rounded and unpointed. He wore a crisp, tailored martial gi of layered black and white silk, his hands resting lightly upon his knees.
As my footsteps echoed softly across the wooden floorboards, the man slowly opened his eyes.
I caught my breath.
His irises were not the piercing silver-gray of Seris's, but a cloudy, milky gray, the unmistakable, unseeing gaze of a man who was completely blind.
Yet despite his lack of sight, his head tilted upward, tracking my exact position with uncanny, effortless accuracy.
When he spoke, his voice was a deep, resonant baritone that filled the silent dojo.
"Hello there, young one," the man said smoothly. "You must be Cain. I welcome you to our home... and to my dojo."
I stopped several paces away, pressing my fist to my chest and bowing with deep, respectful discipline. "I am Cain. But forgive me, Master... I have not yet been given your name."
The man rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion that defied the very concept of physical effort.
"Ah, of course," he replied, walking with absolute confidence toward the weapon racks on the wall. "I am Zakan Velor. I serve as the Chief Lightsaber Instructor for the Corellian Jedi Order... and I am Seris's father."
My good eye widened slightly.
Zakan Velor.
I remembered Seris mentioning years ago that her father was half-human and half-Echani, which explained his human ears and distinct Echani coloring, but she had never once mentioned that he was blind.
Zakan paused at the rack, his head tilting slightly as if catching the subtle shift in my breath. "Does the realization of my blindness disquiet you, child?"
"Not at all, Master Velor," I answered honestly. "I was merely surprised. Seris spoke very highly of your skill, but never mentioned your lack of sight. I was told you wished to speak with me. How may I serve you?"
Without turning around, Zakan's hand swept across the wooden rack. He grasped two heavy, beautifully crafted wooden bokken blades, spun around on his heel, and tossed one across the expanse of the dojo.
The wooden sword cut through the air with a sharp whistle. I raised my hand and caught the hilt effortlessly, feeling the balanced, weighted core of Corellian ironwood settle into my palm.
I looked down at the practice blade, a knowing smirk touching my lips. I should have known.
Zakan turned to face me, taking a centered stance across the floor. "I wished to look upon the young man who plucked my daughter from the Coruscant Temple... the one who intends to lead her into the crucible of war. I wish to measure your resolve, Cain. And among my people, the most truthful conversations are spoken through action."
With effortless elegance, Zakan brought his wooden blade up, angling the tip in a low, refined diagonal guard while drawing his left hand back to his hip.
My eyebrows raised. Form II: Makashi.
"You know," I said, a dry chuckle escaping my throat, "I came to Corellia fully prepared to be interrogated by politicians and diplomats. But a martial spar? That, I can handle. Just please don't take it personally if I manage to defeat you, Master Velor."
Zakan's lips curved into a sharp, confident grin. "Confident. Good. Let us see how long that confidence endures under pressure. And I trust it goes without saying, no Force pushes, no telekinesis, no external manipulation. Purely technique, instinct, and physical resolve. We let our bodies speak the truth."
"Agreed," I said, stepping forward. I dropped into an identical Makashi opening stance, the wooden blade held lightly in my dominant hand. "I won't hold back just because you're blind, Master."
"And I shall not hold back simply because you are a gifted child," Zakan retorted smoothly, before adding with dry humor, "...well, perhaps just a little."
I didn't wait for him to reconsider.
Pushing off my back foot, I lunged forward with explosive speed, driving the tip of my wooden blade in a crisp, blinding Makashi thrust aimed directly at his right shoulder.
Zakan didn't even blink his milky eyes.
With a micro-adjustment of his lead foot, he swayed a fraction of an inch to the side, letting my thrust whistle harmlessly through empty air. In the same breath, his wooden blade flicked out, executing a lightning-fast parry-riposte that cracked against my guard and drove straight toward my chest.
Crack!
I twisted my wrists, locking my blade against his in a desperate, last-second deflection. But the mechanical leverage and sheer physical torque behind his strike sent me sliding back five feet across the polished floorboards, my boots squealing against the wood.
I widened my eye, catching my balance. That was Makashi... but that transition into defense was pure Soresu! No, wait... the footwork wasn't Jedi at all. Was that Echani martial arts?
Zakan didn't give me time to analyze.
He closed the distance instantly, his movements were minimal, fluid, and utterly devoid of wasted motion. His wooden blade became a blur of minimal, precise strikes, targeting my wrists, elbows, and throat in rapid succession.
Crack! Clack! Crack!
Realizing Makashi alone couldn't break through his seamless defense, I shifted gears. I transitioned into Ataru, dropping low to duck beneath a sweeping diagonal slash, spinning on my heel, and launching a rapid, acrobatic counter-flurry aimed at his flank.
Just as my counterstrike was about to clip his side, Zakan bent backward with spine-defying flexibility, letting my blade graze empty air before snapping back upright like a coiled spring.
"Ah, Ataru," Zakan noted, his voice remarkably calm and unhurried despite the blinding speed of our exchange. "Dynamic, fluid, and aggressive. Naturally, being the student of Plo Koon, that was to be expected. I suppose I should respond in kind."
I parried a sharp jab to my ribs, catching his wooden hilt in a bind. "You know my Master?"
"Plo Koon and I enjoyed many friendly spars in our youth," Zakan answered with a fond grin, "back when the Baran Do Sages of Kel Dor and the Corellian Jedi Enclave conducted mutual martial exchanges."
Suddenly, Zakan's entire tempo shifted.
The refined, aristocratic elegance of Makashi exploded into a ferocious, high-velocity assault. He surged forward with relentless, acrobatic combinations that mirrored the explosive kineticism of Ataru, yet every single pivot, slip, and strike carried the brutal, unpredictable unpredictability .
Clack-clack-clack-crack!
I was forced onto the back foot, my mind spinning into confusion. What form is this?! Is he using lightsaber forms, or not?
We traded strikes for several blistering minutes, our wooden blades clashing in a deafening, rhythmic percussion across the echoing hall. I cycled desperately through Makashi ripostes, Soresu walls, and Ataru angles, but no matter how I adjusted my cadence, Zakan was always half a step ahead, reading the tension in my muscles and the displacement of air before my strikes even materialized.
Then, just as he drove me toward the edge of the mat with a devastating downward cut, Zakan abruptly halted his blade a single inch from my collarbone.
He lowered his sword, stepping back.
He didn't look winded in the slightest, but a deep frown of disappointment creased his brow.
"What are you doing, Cain?" Zakan asked bluntly.
I lowered my practice sword, panting slightly as sweat beaded along my forehead. "I... I was trying to adapt to your transitions, Master Velor. Your hybrid style is unlike anything I've encountered."
"No," Zakan said, shaking his head firmly. "You are fighting with hesitation. There is a profound, chaotic weight occupying your spirit. It is bleeding into your muscles, making your saber forms rigid, disjointed, and sloppy."
He took a slow step toward me, his unseeing gray eyes boring straight into my soul.
"I do not know what dark shadow hangs over your mind, boy," Zakan said, his baritone voice carrying a profound, ancient gravity. "But in the midst of combat, in the midst of this conversation, you must allow your thoughts and body to flow like a river, letting the current wash away the fear so the cycle may continue. If you trap the water behind a dam of terror, you become a stagnant swamp... and a stagnant warrior will never achieve the greatness demanded of him."
His words struck me in some way I didn't completely understand.
A stagnant swamp...
He was right. Even as I swung this wooden blade, the back of my mind had been hopelessly chained to the abyss of the World Between Worlds. I was agonizing over Abeloth. I was obsessing over the hopeless future where she wore Seris's corpse, frantically wondering how I could ever become strong enough to defeat an immortal cosmic entity. I was fighting from a place of lingering, suffocating terror.
And then, in the quiet depths of the dojo, a strange, profound sensation washed over me.
It felt like a warm, ethereal hand gently resting against my right shoulder.
A voice, yet not a spoken voice, but an ancient, resonant impression rippling directly through my consciousness, echoed within my spirit:
Do not look for the answers with your eyes... but with your entire being.
My breath caught in my throat.
Without a word, I raised my left hand to my face. I reached behind my head, untied the leather strap, and slowly removed my eyepatch, letting it drop to the polished floorboards.
I kept my scarred left eye shut, and then, slowly, deliberately, I closed my right eye as well.
I let out a long, shuddering exhale, releasing the terror, the future, and the cosmic dread into the open air.
I did not reach for Shatterpoint. Instead, I sank entirely into the brilliant, boundless ocean of the Force-light.
Instantly, the physical darkness behind my eyelids vanished.
Standing directly before me, blazing in absolute purity, was that exact same concentrated, immaculate white light I had sensed from the sky. As I watched with my inner sight, the radiant light shifted, perfectly taking the physical silhouette and contour of Zakan Velor.
I felt the subtle shift of air. I felt the contraction of his calf muscles. Through the Force, I saw the trajectory of his strike before the physical wood even cut through the atmosphere.
Zakan launched a blinding horizontal slash aimed straight for my flank.
I didn't open my eyes.
I simply pivoted on my heel with effortless, fluid grace, bringing my wooden blade down in a flawless, perfectly timed block.
CRACK!
The wooden swords locked together with a sharp, resonant snap, the impact sending a crisp vibration up both our arms.
Zakan paused, the wooden blades pressed firmly against one another. A slow, deeply satisfied grin spread across the blind master's face as he felt the absolute stillness and clarity radiating from my stance.
"Something about you has changed," Zakan murmured, his baritone laced with genuine respect. "You seem far less shaken now, Cain. Let us see how well our conversation goes... with your head finally cleared."
I smiled, pressing firmly back against his guard, perfectly centered in the light.
"Yes," I replied softly. "Let's."